


Treasure These Few Words

by quietprofanity



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Epistolary, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietprofanity/pseuds/quietprofanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul ponders the letter he received from Brian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure These Few Words

It was only a piece of paper. That was all. And yet as Paul drove down Regent Street the letter, resting serenely in its envelope on the leather passenger’s side seat, seemed to take on the properties of a human being. Like a pretty bird sitting there, expectant and eager and waiting for a response, when he’d just as soon have her gone.

He’d already read the letter. After he’d opened it at Jane’s house and saw its contents he’d closed it up quickly before Jane or Peter could see what it really was. Yet what he’d read was enough for the words to burn into his brain, and despite his best efforts they kept coming to the forefront of his consciousness, like a sore in his mouth he couldn’t keep from licking.

 _I never know what you mean … I can’t stop thinking about you … If you don’t explain yourself I shall go mad …_

He was angry at Brian for this, although he felt guilty about his anger. While they’d been no stranger to heated disagreements, his manager had such an overall gentleness of manner that any rage directed at him seemed needlessly cruel.

Still, what had Brian been thinking? To send such a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Asher’s house where Jane could read it? Brian was rarely that reckless. In fact Paul could imagine Brian practicing what he had written Paul, crumpling paper upon paper into the wastebasket before he got the words perfect. (The image created a knot in his stomach.)

The need to dig his tongue into the wound became too much. Paul pulled onto a sidestreet, drove around a bit until he found a secluded spot to park his car. He picked up the envelope again, scanned his eyes over it, his cheeks warming with every word.

Christ, Paul thought, he’d really let this get out of hand.

He began to read the letter again, telling himself it wasn’t as monstrous as it had grown in his imagination.

 _Dear Paul,_

 _I’d long resisted writing you this letter but I can bear it no longer. For months I’ve watched the way you look at me. As much as I’d tried I couldn’t help but notice how you bat your eyes sometimes when you speak to me, how your lips come so close when you whisper in my ear that I can feel your breath, how you let your hand linger … almost a caress, when you never do such a thing to George or even John. I never know what you mean by this. What do you mean? Please, please tell me. Even if the answer is nothing I deserve an explanation._

God, what had he done? Paul asked himself. And why had he done it for so long?

It had been awkward at first, but surprisingly simple. He wasn’t like John, with his leering and that idiotic trip to Barcelona. Paul knew better than to be that crass and obvious, knew he couldn’t make himself that vulnerable (John was lucky it was only Bob who made a joke, really) and, most of all, he knew how to be charming. He’d said and done much worse to get a woman into bed. Why not do a little less for something much more important, even if it were a man on the receiving end of it all?

 _Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m writing to you not as your manager but as someone who loves you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I close my eyes before I sleep at night and the color of your eyes, the feeling of your hand, lingers in my memory. I would never, ever demand anything of you, but please, please I wish you would tell me what it all really means. In this I am completely in your power._

Paul wasn’t made of stone, or at least not completely. Occasionally doubt had crept into his mind when he’d flirted with Brian, but then Brian would smile and oh, wasn’t it all harmless, really? He’d even grown to like it for its own sake, to get a thrill from watching Brian occasionally get flustered, to feel the flush of success whenever Brian would look and him like they were sharing a secret joke.

The car suddenly felt too hot. Paul unrolled the window, slammed his head back against the driver’s seat.

God, it didn’t mean anything. Not really, he thought, as he felt his heart pound in his chest, sticky sweat against his collar. Of course, he cared about Brian. Brian wasn’t completely without his faults but he was so genuine, so sincere. Paul looked back at the letter again.

 _I can’t impress on you more urgently how much this means to me, and I only wish I’d had the courage to tell you this to your face and not through this letter. If you don’t explain yourself I shall go mad._

Yes, Brian was so genuine. Paul had received countless love letters over the years, even a few at Jane’s house, histrionic missives to be thrown in the trash, many not much different than this one. Yet this was Brian, and Brian was his friend and he knew him. Paul knew his kind face, his hard embraces, his eyes brimming over with longing.

God, Paul thought as he undid his trousers. Why the fuck did Brian have to bring this to Jane’s house? Paul’s cock was already fully stiff as he pushed his trousers and underwear down to his knees. Why did Brian have to make it real? A moment after his buttocks rested on the warm leather of the seat Paul began to stroke his cock, his eyes still locked on the letter.

 _I worry this must be terribly unfair to you. I can’t help it. What I feel for you I feel so intensely …_

Paul let out a groan, his eyes shut tight as he reached his crescendo. He kept moaning as he continued to yank his dick. Somewhere in the back of his mind he told himself he was being an idiot. He was making a horrible mistake. He was being too loud. Someone would catch him. Nothing about the letter should be causing this reaction in him. God, this didn’t make any sense. This couldn’t be him.

Paul opened his eyes. His breath came in hard, heavy, pants, almost groans as he continued to read.

 _I truly do. I can’t help but be in love with you, Paul, you amazing, talented boy. I doubt anybody could. For that, I’m sure you could forgive me …_

“Hrrrngh,” the sound seemed to force itself out of Paul’s mouth of its own will, and then soon he just gave up on trying to control it. He was farther gone than he’d ever been before by himself, farther gone than he’d been in a while, and he wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed more by the fact that he was losing it over a man, or that he was getting off so hard to such flattery of himself.

 _Oh, tell me … Please tell me, Paul. You have no idea how much this torments me._

He was so close, his balls tight with the need to come. He pressed the letter close to his chest, feeling it crinkle under his spread fingers as he gave his cock one last pull. He was still moaning as he came, thrusting his hips with each small squirt of come, Brian’s smile all he saw when he closed his eyes.

It had been good, better than it had any right to be. Even the feeling of the wind blowing through the window had barely any effect on awaking him from his stupor. It was at least 10 minutes before Paul looked at the paper again, ran his thumb over Brian’s signature, written in a shaky hand.

He was suddenly awake, and made pains to right himself. The mess hadn’t been too bad. He’d mostly come on his hands, with only a few spots on his legs and some on the seat that could be easily scratched away. He wiped his hand inside his pocket and pulled his trousers back up.

Paul considered the letter again. He’d received many love letters, he thought. He could easily throw this one away. He perhaps should throw it away. After all, he wouldn’t want it to be found.

Instead, he put the letter in the glovebox. One day he’d get rid of it, but not today. If he was a fraud, Paul thought, at least he was a sentimental one. He turned the engine on and pondered how he would break Brian’s heart.

The End.


End file.
